


Capri Week 2k17

by Dont_touch_the_phlebotinum



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-08 10:49:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11645022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dont_touch_the_phlebotinum/pseuds/Dont_touch_the_phlebotinum
Summary: A collection of prompts written for this year's Captive Prince week. Some AU, some canon-compliant; all entries will be rated and tagged individually.





	1. Sapphires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU. Damen/Laurent. Rated Teen.

Damen sat at his desk, his chin in one hand, twirling his pen absently in the other as he stared forward without seeing anything. This was the part of the job he hated, the waiting around, the growing stack of paperwork on his desk demanding attention he couldn't muster. There was a constant to and fro of people around him, but Damen was lost to all of it, until, finally, amidst the cacophony of ringing phones and chatter that made the precinct a twenty-four hour hub of activity, the trill of Damen's phone stood out like a beacon. He snatched it up on the first ring.

 _"We've got another one,"_ said Nikandros, without preamble.

"Where?"

_"Antique store down on Cypress Boulevard. The silent alarm just tripped."_

Damen was already on his feet, snatching up his jacket with his free hand from where it had been draped over the back of his chair. It was the distraction he'd been waiting for. Of course, this would give him another report to add to his pile when he returned. He chose not to think about that part just yet. "Antiques? That's a new one."

 _"Not necessarily,"_ said Nikandros, and as a muffled blare of car horns sounded over the line, he cursed under his breath. He never had mastered driving in Ios. _"The store specialises in vintage jewellery. It's currently in possession of a piece due to go to auction next week."_

Damen paused, halfway to the staircase, and sighed. "Let me guess: sapphires."

_"A big ol' sapphire tiara."_

"How many times is this now?"

 _"Five?"_ Nikandros said. _"Six? If we're quick, maybe we can catch these guys before they make it to seven. I'm just pulling up outside the precinct."_

"I'm on my way down."

 

All was quiet when Damen and Nikandros pulled up outside the store; lights off, and no sign of forced entry. Damen knew better than to think it was a false alarm, though.

"Stay here and watch the front," Damen said. "I'll check the back."

"Don't go inside alone." Nikandros said it as if he hoped that one of these days Damen might actually listen to him.

Damen slipped from the car and, footsteps silent, made his way down the alley at the side of the building towards the back door. The lock had been picked, not broken, and the door was propped open with a narrow plank of wood. If you weren't looking too closely, you wouldn't even notice the door was open. Quietly, Damen withdrew the plank, pushed the door open wider, and crept inside.

There was a dim light on in a room farther down the hall, the sound of thick metal scraping along concrete coming from within it. Damen paused when he reached the door frame, and peered into the room. His stomach clenched at the scene waiting for him.

Inside was a single man, young and blond. From the sight of a stethoscope draped around his neck, it looked like he'd cracked the code to the safe rather than drilling into it, something Damen didn't realise anyone still did these days. Damen wouldn't have suspected it of a man like this if they did. He looked more like a model than a master thief. The safe door was open in front of him, and as Damen watched, he reached inside with both hands and, almost reverently, withdrew a tiara. It glittered with diamonds, the largest sapphire Damen had ever seen taking pride of place in the centre. It had to be worth tens of millions, at least.

Damen stepped into the room. "I'm not sure it suits you," he said.

The man straightened and spun on his heel to face Damen in one graceful movement. Damen had to fight to keep his breath from hitching upon getting a clear look at his face. The man looked him up and down, slow, too slow, and a sly smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "You don't think it matches my eyes?"

Damen swallowed, all too aware of the way his heart rate was spiking. It did match the man's eyes, wide and blue enough to drown in. He should have let Nikandros take this one. "That's why you choose sapphires, then?" he said. "You know, out of all the thieves I've caught, that might be the strangest motivation of them all."

The man smiled wider now, and cocked his head to the side as he regarded Damen. "You've not caught me yet," he replied. He looked back at the tiara in his hands. "Did you know Akielon sapphires are the best quality of them all?"

"No."

"It's true. Not even Patras can produce gems so free of blemishes. There's more money in a good quality Akielon sapphire like this one than you could ever dream of."

"It's a pity you won't be selling it, then."

The man met Damen's gaze again. If Damen had met him anywhere else, he'd be buying him a drink by now. Maybe he'd already be on the way to taking him home. The man looked more amused by Damen's words than anything. "You're more attractive than the last man who tried to apprehend me," he said.

"Thank you," replied Damen. He was only vaguely aware of Nikandros still waiting in the car out front. "You're more attractive than the last man I arrested."

"You won't be arresting me."

Damen arched an eyebrow. "You sound sure," he said. He wasn't doing anything to stop the man from sliding the tiara into his bag and closing the safe behind him, though, so maybe he was right.

The man stepped closer to Damen and peered up into his face. He was stood close enough for Damen to smell his lightly spiced cologne, to feel the gust of his breath against Damen's neck. "I can't buy you dinner if I'm in prison," he said, and while Damen's mind was busy short-circuiting, he stretched up to peck a kiss to the corner of Damen's mouth.

"I don't even know your name." It wasn't the objection Damen should have had, but it was the only one he could make.

"Laurent," he breathed against Damen's ear, and then: "I'll be in touch."

He slipped from the room to escape into the night, leaving Damen staring, dumbfounded, after him. Amidst the roiling sea of Damen's thoughts, only one stood out with any real clarity: Damen was in so much trouble.


	2. Freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU. Damen/Laurent. Rated Teen.

Summer had descended thick and fast in Akielos, as always, heat and humidity unfolding across the country like a blanket. For days Damen had sat eyeing the cloudless skies through the open arches of the palace, his mind on sunshine and the coastal breeze until a sharp elbow to the ribs from either Nikandros or, on occasion, his father, would draw his attention back to the rather more important matters at hand. He had a hard enough time concentrating during tediously involved negotiations such as these at the best of times; in weather like this, he stood no chance.

He was no more distracted than the Veretian delegates in their midst, though. Air conditioning and portable fans weren't enough to keep their pasty-skinned northern neighbours from sweltering under the heat, sweat beading on each flushed face as they fanned themselves with the trade treaties in front of them and held glasses of ice cold water to their foreheads. Even Laurent had conceded to the heat by stripping off his blazer and forgoing the top few buttons of his shirt.

The sight did nothing to keep Damen from overheating. It did help steer his gaze from the windows, however.

On the third day of blinding sunshine and temperatures already creeping above 30 degrees long before noon, there was a knock at the door to Damen's apartments in the palace.

"Come with me," Laurent said, in lieu of a greeting, when Damen opened the door. He was wearing a polo shirt and shorts, planes of pale skin exposed to the world. Damen had seen Laurent in varying states of undress since their relationship had begun, but this? This felt obscene.

He forced his eyes back up to Laurent's gaze, somehow. "We're due downstairs in fifteen minutes."

Laurent pulled a face that said in no uncertain terms how little he cared about trade discussions. "They won't miss us," he said. "Come with me."

He held out his hand, and Damen took it, letting Laurent steer him out into the hallway. Hand in hand they walked out of the palace, through the sun-baked gardens, and down the steps that led all the way from the cliff top down to the harbour.

"Are you going to tell me what we're doing?" said Damen, as they reached the harbour and Laurent led the way along the dock.

"It is too nice a day to be cooped up inside."

There were only a handful of boats moored at the harbour — Laurent's sentiment was shared by many, it seemed — but Laurent eyed each and every one of them intently. That didn't bode well. Damen really should have learnt by now that whenever Laurent stole him away from some more important purpose, he had trouble on his mind. It had happened too many times to count in the last eighteen months. And Damen still hadn't grown any better at saying no.

"You're stealing a boat?" Damen said, dubiously, when Laurent seemed to have found what he was looking for — a modest speed boat, gleaming white in the sunlight — and stepped towards it. Damen took a closer look at the boat and its familiar design, and again at Laurent, pulling a set of keys from his pocket as if he'd spent time in the owner of the boat's company. "You're stealing _Nikandros'_ boat?"

"Borrowing," corrected Laurent. He stepped on board and turned back to Damen. "He won't be needing it. He has a trade negotiation to attend."

"You've excelled yourself this time," Damen said.

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

Damen didn't think it had been, at least. Yet as he stepped on board, taking the keys Laurent offered out to him, and started the engine, he couldn't help the smile stretching across his face, or the thrill of exhilaration when they pulled away from the dock. It really was too nice to be inside.

He was busy steering them out of the harbour, between boats dragging water skiers and great yachts carrying rowdy socialites, when the sounds of Laurent shuffling about the deck caught his attention. He glanced back to see Laurent forcing open the cool box. "What are you doing now?"

"We've already stolen his boat," Laurent said, returning to Damen with two beer bottles clutched between his fingers, condensation trickling down the cold glass. "I'm sure Nikandros won't mind a few missing drinks on top of that."

"I thought we were borrowing the boat."

Laurent rolled his eyes and took a sip of his drink. He pulled a face, staring down at his bottle as if it had caused him some grave insult. "Very well. I'll buy him some more beer to make up for it. A nicer one than this Vaskian swill."

Halfway across the gulf of Atros, where only the occasional boat sauntered lazily past, Damen idled the engine. The water lapped at the sides of the boat almost in slow motion. The sun beat down overhead, but the breeze ghosting across the water kept the worst of its heat at bay. They could remain here for another hour or more until the heat would become too much. And when it did, there were plenty of spots along the coast to find some shade.

People would be looking for them by now. Damen could see the palace, white marble shining bright on the cliff top, but out here, with nothing but the sky above him and water on all sides, it couldn't have felt farther away. And maybe Laurent was right; maybe the two of them really wouldn't be missed.

Damen gazed up at the clear sky, squinting against the sunlight while he watched the gulls overhead, until he felt Laurent's fingers tangle with his own. He let Laurent guide him across the deck, and they took a seat together, Laurent nestling himself against Damen's side as he passed Damen the other bottle in his hand. He looked up at Damen with a warm smile, and Damen returned it in kind.

"Isn't this better than another stifling day inside the palace?" Laurent said. He already knew the answer.

Damen kissed him, deep and unhurried, and took a long gulp of his drink. "Definitely."


	3. Kings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fantasy AU. Damen/Laurent. Rated Gen.

Night had already fallen in the forest, what remaining traces of daylight there were left unable to pierce the thick cover of the trees. It was not an ideal time to be separated from a riding party. But Damen was not overly concerned. He was familiar enough with these parts that the poor visibility posed no real challenge, and he was more than capable of defending himself should he happen across anyone who wished harm to Akielos' new king. Damen was not so naive to believe such people did not exist.

He drew his horse to a stop, and breathed deep of the musty air. It was dark enough by now that the rest of his envoy would have likely stopped to make camp, even with Damen still lost to them. King or not, continuing a search in the darkness was a hopeless endeavour. But there was no smell of smoke on the air, no sounds but the rustle of wind through the trees and the occasional caw of birds above. Damen peered over his shoulder, as if he could see beyond the trees all around towards the Akielon countryside he and his men had made their way across earlier that day. Perhaps they would have turned back, in expectation of Damen doing the same, to reconvene in the village that sat on the edge of the forest.

Damen frowned. As he gazed behind him, weighing up the best course of action, he realised the path he had been travelling was nowhere to be seen. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough by now to recognise a clearing he could pick his way through; behind, there was nothing but the solid bulk of trees, too densely packed for his horse to pass between. He was sure that was the way he had come. He turned forward again, to press on in search of another path out of the forest, and stopped short before he could so much as nudge his horse onwards.

There was nowhere for her to go. The path was gone.

A heavy sense of dread settled in Damen's stomach. The young serving girl at the inn where he and his men had spent the night before had begged them not to pass through the forest, with wide eyes and desperation in her voice, upon learning of their intended route. She had even offered them extra food and drink, free of charge, to see them through the week-long journey it would take to travel around the edge of the tree line. The other villagers had had similar reactions, had spoken in hushed tones of the dangers to be found inside, of the people who had travelled into the trees and never returned. Damen had dismissed it as superstition. Every village far removed from the cities had some similar quirk, something to enliven the long, tedious days of its residents. But now, his spine tingling as if some unseen presence was ghosting its finger along it, Damen couldn't help but wonder if they had been right.

There was a silence in the air unlike any Damen had ever experienced. Not even the wind was with him now. His horse shuffled from hoof to hoof; restless, perhaps, or sensing the same strange feeling as Damen. He ran one soothing hand along her neck before her agitation could grow, and curled the other around the dagger on his belt.

He didn't have chance to use it.

A hand grabbed at his elbow, and Damen was on the ground, the thick brush doing precious little to soften his fall. A half-dozen swords were at his throat before he could suck back in the air that had been expelled from him. He couldn't see them, but he could feel their sharp points against his skin. His attackers had not snapped a single twig, not disturbed a single leaf, on their approach.

"Who are you?" Damen said. He received no answer.

One of them said something to the others, in a language Damen had not heard before, and the swords were gone. In the next moment, Damen was being hauled unceremoniously to his feet, a firm grip on both of his arms keeping him from fighting back. They began to move, Damen's feet scraping on the uneven ground as his apparent captors moved faster than Damen could keep up with. Despite there having been no path that Damen could see only moments earlier, they encountered no obstacles on their journey.

"Where are you taking me?"

"To see the king," the man on his left said. His voice was rough as tree bark.

"I am the king."

"Not here."

Damen cursed his earlier foolishness. Had he not been so preoccupied by the villagers' folk stories, he might have noticed his imminent ambush. These were not monsters; vagrants, hiding out in the forest, no doubt loyalists to Damen's exiled brother, killing anyone who ventured too near their camp lest their schemes be discovered.

Yet it was not Kastor Damen ended up being dragged before. Damen couldn't be sure how long they marched through the pitch-dark forest, but eventually he spotted some light in the distance, glowing like a beacon. It grew steadily brighter as they drew nearer, until Damen was gazing down at a wide hollow, more like the great hall of a palace than a clearing in the trees, its walls the vast tree trunks that stretched up towards the heavens on all sides, its ceiling the canopy of thick branches overhead. The makeshift room was filled with light, though Damen could see no source of origin.

He was too busy gazing in wonder at the impossible feats surrounding him to watch his footing as he was led down a staircase carved into the rock, but the hold on his arms was tight enough to keep him upright. It didn't loosen until he was in the centre of the room and forced violently to his knees. Damen looked around at the sea of pale faces watching him. These weren't Akielons, that was certain.

The man with the bark-like voice spoke in that strange language again, and Damen's eyes travelled from him to the one he addressed: a man paler still than the others, with hair like spun gold and a face lovelier than any Damen had ever seen. He was so lovely, in fact, that it took Damen a moment to remember himself, and for his gaze to leave the man's face and take in the rest of him. He wore a delicate circlet that glinted in the softly undulating light, and sat sprawled almost obscenely, one leg draped over the armrest of his throne, which, Damen realised, seemed to be carved from a still-living tree. A spray of white blossoms framed the man, making both his golden hair and the dark blue of his clothes richer in contrast.

"I take it you aren't my brother's men," Damen said. He didn't expect to receive an answer, though he didn't need one. Between the ghostly complexions of the people around him and the intricate detailing that decorated everything in sight, Damen felt very far from home indeed.

The man in the throne blinked once, his gaze passing with a languid reluctance to Damen. His eyes remained on Damen for too long before he finally spoke. "You claim to be king?" He spoke in lightly accented Akielon, his words slow, either due to some struggle with the language or sheer boredom. From his stance, Damen suspected the latter.

"I am King Damianos of Akielos," said Damen. "Whatever this place is that you have created for yourselves, this is still my kingdom."

Unfolding himself from his throne, the leader of this strange band of people stood, and stepped towards him. He moved like clouds on the breeze. "No," he said, and crouched to look Damen in the eye, his own a hypnotic shade of blue, "it isn't." Below his circlet, poking through the soft waves of his hair, Damen could see the tips of pointed ears.

"You're Veretians." Damen could hear the awe, the disbelief, in his tone. He shook his head before the thought could take hold. This wasn't real; the sights surrounding him were the product of his mind playing tricks on him, and nothing more. He must have hit his head when he was dragged from his horse. "This is absurd. Vere is a children's story."

He'd known the tale all too well, as a boy, of human-like creatures with knowledge of strange magics, their kingdom hidden to keep its secrets protected. It had been easy to believe then, with the over-active imagination of youth. Damen had grown sense enough to recognise it as nothing more than a story many years ago.

"Who are you really?"

The man's lip quirked, and he straightened to his full height. "I am King Laurent," he said, "of Vere."

"This can't be."

"You sound awfully certain." He gestured to Damen's guards, and with only a little more care than they had handled him earlier, they pulled Damen back to his feet. Laurent stepped closer, though he did not signal for his guards to restrain Damen again. "Do I not seem real to the touch?"

He dropped his arms to his sides, an invitation, and Damen pressed a hand out to Laurent's chest. He was warm, and firm, beneath Damen's palm.

"You want something," said Laurent.

Damen swallowed, and quickly withdrew his hand. Laurent paid it no mind.

"Your brother," he continued. "Kastor?"

"How do you know that name?"

"He has men camped in the woods, too close to my people for comfort." He met Damen's eyes again. "They're becoming a nuisance."

"Yes," Damen agreed on a huff of laughter. It was the laugh of the vindicated, perhaps, or the mad. Damen had known Kastor was gathering loyalists, though he had not known where they were. There was a great deal he had not known, apparently.

"He seeks to usurp your throne?"

Damen nodded. It would have been smarter to stay silent — what would keep Laurent from handing Damen over to Kastor's men, solving both of his problems in one swift move? — yet Damen felt oddly powerless to disappoint Laurent. He had a beauty beyond even the finest concoctions of Damen's imagination, and Damen wanted nothing but to bask in it.

"Can you defeat him on your own?"

Those words brought Damen back to himself with an unpleasant thud. "No," he admitted. It had been the purpose of his journey, travelling to the Northern provinces to secure the promise of support from their kyroi should Kastor attempt an uprising. Had Laurent's men not found him first, Kastor might not have needed to.

Laurent smiled, and Damen felt himself quake internally at the sight. "Then perhaps you and I can be of some assistance to one another," he said, and linked his arm with Damen's. "Walk with me."


	4. "He would do anything for his little brother."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon-divergent. Laurent & Auguste, Damen/Laurent. Rated Gen.

"The anniversary of your coronation is coming up."

Auguste raised his head. After a lifetime of intrusions such as this, they no longer surprised him. He had thought that perhaps now he was king, Laurent would think to knock before entering his chambers, but in hindsight, that thought had been as foolish as the idea that Laurent might show a trace more respect to Auguste as both his older brother and his king. Had anyone else barged into the king's chambers uninvited they would already be getting hauled away to spend a night in the cells for their transgression. All Auguste could do this time was smile.

"Yes," Auguste said.

"A celebration would lift the people's spirits."

Auguste hummed his agreement. He set his papers to one side, and stood to meet Laurent in the centre of the room, a goblet of wine extended in offering. Laurent, as was his way, declined. Yet, as was his way, had Auguste not offered, Laurent would have feigned great offense. "And here in the palace, as well," said Auguste. "A ball, perhaps?"

It had not been long since the last, Auguste knew. But the country's finances were in enough good shape to indulge in a few excesses, and the people of the court would relish any opportunity for drink and celebration. And, if Auguste would admit it, he would be happy to partake in any revelry himself. The stresses of a fledgling kingship did take their toll.

Laurent titled his head to one side, reams of calculations streaming through his mind. He nodded. "I'll extend the invitations. Patras?"

"Yes, of course," replied Auguste. "Kempt?"

"She won't come."

"Not even to see her grandchildren?"

"Especially not to see us," said Laurent, with a pointed look that brought a laugh forth from Auguste's chest. He watched as Laurent stepped forward and perched himself on the corner of Auguste's desk, plucking a pastry from the plate of food placed upon it and helping himself to a clean sheet of paper, as if these were his own chambers. With the familiarity that came from a lifetime spent in this room, first when it belonged to their father and now Auguste, Laurent reached for a quill sat in their grandfather's ink pot, and began scrawling down notes and whatever ideas he was already concocting for the celebrations.

"Very well. And extend an invitation to Theomedes of Akielos and his family."

Laurent baulked, coming to a sudden stop in his frantic scribbling to gape up at Auguste. It was a rare lack of composure, but not the first Auguste had witnessed when talk turned to Akielos and its royals. "Why?" he said.

"Because the best way to ensure peace with Akielos lasts is to treat them as old friends."

Laurent narrowed his eyes at him. "What are you planning?"

"Nothing." He prayed his face did not give him away. Laurent had a knack for lying, falsehoods and exaggerations dancing from his tongue with ease, but it was a skill Auguste did not share. "What kind of ulterior motive do you think I would have?"

"None," replied Laurent, and looked away quickly.

Auguste did his best to stifle a smile. Perhaps his brother wasn't such a good liar after all.

"I just fear that your infatuation with the Akielon prince will arouse suspicion," Laurent continued, in an admirable attempt at nonchalance.

But it was not Auguste's infatuation with Prince Damianos influencing his decision.

He'd dismissed it the first time the Akielon royals had been granted invitation, the way Laurent's eyes had caught and held in a way Auguste had never seen him react to anyone before. Auguste imagined that was a natural reaction to the sight of Damianos. Had he any preference for men himself, he might have been struck by it in the same way, rendered weak-limbed by Damianos' towering height, his broad shoulders, his easy, dimpled smile. But with each feast and celebration, Auguste had found himself studying Laurent, watching his gaze land on Damianos and dart away again with increasing frequency. Once, he had even caught Laurent flushed with colour upon coming into contact with the man, a sight Auguste had never witnessed, nor expected to, before.

And it seemed a mutual attraction. Damianos was even worse at hiding his interest than Laurent. Auguste had not yet broached the subject with him, but the bashful smile that would spread across his face upon sight of Laurent nearby was confirmation enough. He suspected Laurent had noticed it, too, from the way he had grown even more eager to avoid Damianos these days when the two nations came together.

"I'm hardly infatuated," Auguste said, and he eyed Laurent. "He is rather dashing, though, you must admit."

Laurent made a noise of derision, and peered more intently at the papers in his lap. Between the strands of hair falling forward to hide his face, Auguste could see the tips of Laurent's ears turning pink.

Perhaps a better way to cement the two nations' burgeoning alliance was not with friendship, but romance.

Auguste took a step back, almost as if the closer he stood to Laurent, the more likely it was that Laurent would pick up on Auguste's thoughts. He had to approach this carefully; if Laurent began to suspect Auguste's motives, he would withdraw, despite his own little acknowledged desires. Auguste had learnt the hard way that Laurent preferred to be left to pursue his own affections, should he ever wish to, the one time he had attempted to interfere with his brother's absent romantic life.

Besides, Auguste was getting ahead of himself. He had to get the pair talking first. But perhaps this celebration would be the perfect time. A few well-placed words in Damianos' ear might be encouragement enough to take that final plunge.

Laurent would flay Auguste alive if he found out he was behind this.

With Laurent's attention still, for now, on his plans for the celebrations, Auguste allowed himself a broad smile as a plan of his own solidified in his mind. If Damianos did find the nerve to look past Laurent's icy demeanour and approach him, though, perhaps murder would be the farthest thing from Laurent's thoughts.

"Send the invitation," Auguste said.


	5. Courting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon-divergent. Damen/Laurent. Rated Teen.

Outside of the palace, the once-busy streets were unusually quiet. Absent was the clamour of the marketplaces, the bellows of traders in shop doorways attempting to peddle their wares. Even the pungent stench of the waste so often left to rot in the street was gone. It was like walking through another city.

Arles was Auguste's home and these his people, and he would die for both, but he was not blind to either's failings. And neither would their Akielon guests be. The city had been subject to a rigorous overhaul in preparation for the Akielon royal family's visit. For a little more than two weeks they would be honoured guests at the palace, and Auguste held no doubt that the city's transformation would crumble the moment their wagons were back on the road.

It was perhaps poor etiquette for Auguste to abandon the palace in the midst of the celebrations. Certainly his father would think so. But the sun shone bright overhead, pale clouds drifting lazily by carrying no threat of rain; the finest day of the early spring Auguste had yet seen. And with the streets this tranquil, no sound but the hum of a dozen gentle conversations from a dozen directions, and the rare clatter of horseshoes on the cobbles, there was little that could keep Auguste inside.

Besides, Laurent had escaped by breakfast this morning. If he could so brazenly avoid the Akielon delegation, Auguste could take a moment to enjoy a walk amongst his people.

He smiled as two young children ran by, their raucous laughter echoing through the narrow street, and a harried-looking woman who could only be their mother came following close behind. She paused in a brief curtsy upon recognising Auguste, and hurried after her wayward children.

Auguste paused himself only a step later. He was stood at the entrance to a street yet more claustrophobic than the one he had been travelling, though before he had moved to enter it, a figure in the alley had caught his attention. Even in the shadow of the tall buildings on either side, Laurent's pale hair was easily recognisable.

But that wasn't what had made Auguste pause.

Laurent wasn't alone.

Auguste tensed, his hands curling into fists at his sides even as he told himself his reaction was absurd. Laurent had long since proven himself more than capable of dismissing unwanted would-be suitors without the need for Auguste to wade in — though perhaps it would be kinder to face Auguste than to be cut down by Laurent's ruthless tongue. Still, the impulse to stride in and protect his little brother remained.

Laurent's companion turned then, and a leaden weight sank to the pit of Auguste's stomach when he recognised him. It had taken a moment in the absence of the Akielon finery Auguste was accustomed to seeing him in, but now it was unmistakable that the man stood too close to Laurent was Prince Damianos. His eyes burned with intent as he gazed, smiling, down at Laurent.

The urge to charge forwards and defend his brother's honour resurfaced, ugly and intense, within Auguste. Damianos was taller and stronger than Laurent; words alone wouldn't protect Laurent from an unwanted advance. But Auguste forced himself to hang back, at least until he knew for certain that Laurent was struggling to rid himself of the attention alone.

The moment never came, however. As Auguste watched them, he saw nothing unwelcoming in Laurent's stance — in fact, Laurent's usual cold detachment was nowhere to be found. He realised now exactly what he had stumbled across.

The pair were embroiled in some private joke, the rustle of their laughter carrying on the gentle breeze towards Auguste's position at the mouth of the alleyway, and Auguste's brow furrowed. He'd never known Laurent to share a joke with anyone, besides Auguste himself. Laurent's interactions with others were for the most part tense, marked by uncomfortable silence or offensive remarks, until he could withdraw to blissful solitude. Laurent had never been one to entertain the company of others willingly.

If there had been any doubt in Auguste's mind, any shred of denial that his brother was embracing adulthood in a way he had not yet shown any interest, it was cast out when a figure emerged from the bakery outside of which Laurent and Damianos stood — the best hidden spot in the city, and one Auguste and Laurent had both been great fans of since childhood. The baker handed Laurent a parcel wrapped in cloth, and before he'd even stepped back inside Laurent was turning to Damianos again, as if the moment's break in their gaze had been an intolerable torment. He unwrapped whatever breads and pastries he had been gifted, and held his fingers up to Damianos' lips. Even at a distance, Auguste could see Damianos' eyes were steady on Laurent's as he dipped to take the morsel from Laurent's fingers, gentle as a kiss.

A hot flush of embarrassment crept to Auguste's cheeks. Masters fed their pets sweet treats by hand, a show of dominance and obedience, but not even long-wed couples would embark on such an intimate display as the one to which Auguste had become an involuntary spectator. Only an evening earlier Laurent had still held nothing but thinly-veiled contempt for their Akielon guests, even when Damianos himself had approached the pair with a warm greeting for Auguste and a coy smile aimed Laurent's way. To go from such disdain to the familiarity the two now seemed to share in the span of mere hours was impossible.

With a laugh at his own foolishness, Auguste thought back to that pink-cheeked smile of Damianos', and the way Auguste had caught his eyes seeking out Laurent on more than once occasion since his family had arrived in Arles — much the same as how he eyed at Laurent now, as if he was powerless to remove his gaze. He wondered how long this secret dalliance of theirs had been taking place. Laurent's behaviour had been no more secretive than usual, though perhaps Auguste was too used to it by now to think much of Laurent's reluctance to divulge his whereabouts during the long days away from the palace.

Laurent gazed up at Damianos with a warm smile as Auguste watched, unable to suffocate the sense of pride swelling within him. He looked happier than Auguste could ever remember seeing him. Damianos offered out an arm to Laurent, which he readily accepted, and they continued their stroll through the winding streets of the city.

Once they had disappeared out of sight, too consumed by each other to ever notice Auguste's point of poorly-hidden surveillance, Auguste turned to make his way back to the palace. And that night at dinner, Auguste excused himself early under the guise of ill health, leaving no barrier between Laurent and Damianos at the table, and forcing the resolute attempts to ignore one another that both had fought to maintain throughout the first course to crumble.


	6. "It's the game I like."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon-divergent. Damen/Laurent. Rated Mature.

It was a modest orchard, the one serving the kitchens in the palace, not nearly as impressive in scope as the vast orange groves beyond the southernmost point of the palace gardens, but tonight it was swarming with activity. There were lanterns strung between the trees, enough of them in the air that Damen was forced to walk with shoulders slumped and his head ducked to pass through the narrow paths. The lanterns were not yet lit, but it was not the failing of some poor member of Damen's father's staff; once the sun had begun its descent and the long day became a long night, they would each take a candle and set to work, filling the orchard with enough light to rival the setting sun until the trees had been stripped as bare as the fields would soon be. All across Akielos, people would be doing the same.

At the clearing at the edge of the tree line, there was a table prepared for a banquet, the braziers on either side already lit to stave off the evening chill, and as Damen made his way towards it, a figure emerged from between the trees.

"Tardy," Laurent said with a lightly scolding edge to his voice, leaning back against the tree beside him as if it had sprouted for the sole purpose of supporting his weight in that moment. He took a bite of the apple in his hand.

Damen smiled. "I was searching for you."

"You were worried I'd fail to find the one orchard in the palace grounds?"

"Clearly I underestimated you."

Laurent gave him a look that suggested it was far from the last time Damen would do so. He gestured for Damen to follow, and they made their way into the clearing.

Already it was brimming with members of the court, thick cloaks draped over their shoulders in preparation for the cold once the sun had set, and an air of expectation to them. Damen spotted Auguste across the clearing and they shared a nod in greeting, before Laurent sidled up to Damen's flank, the backs of his fingers brushing down the length of Damen's arm while he steered Damen towards the courtiers waiting to greet them. He remained close to Damen's side while Damen moved through the crowds. His touch would come and go, fingers sneaking past Damen's cloak to brush the bare skin beneath it, too fleeting to take any real comfort in. Damen found himself expecting Laurent's touch, and missing it when it did not come.

After a time Damen's father emerged from the trees, and the small congregation took their seats around the table. Laurent sat beside Damen, Auguste on Laurent's left, Theomedes on Damen's right, princes sandwiched between their kings. Theomedes remained standing, waiting to address the crowd. He had just spread his arms in welcome and was opening his mouth to speak when Laurent's hand found Damen again, full of intent, brushing feather-light against Damen's thigh. Damen almost slammed his knee into the underside of the table in response.

That was most certainly not the kind of touch Damen had expected in a situation such as this one.

Heat flooded Damen's cheeks at both Laurent's actions and his own conspicuous response, and his eyes darted about the table in search of anybody who might have noticed. Luckily their attention was on Theomedes for now. Damen sought to follow their example.

For a moment, at least, it was easy. Laurent kept his hands to himself, and Damen listened as his father spoke of the fine summer they had had, and the quality of the harvest, and how, as autumn was now upon them, they could only hope to be so blessed next year. Damen had heard many similar speeches on this night over the years, but he gave it his attention all the same.

Or he tried to.

He sensed Laurent's movement before he felt the touch, the very tips of his fingers on Damen's leg again. This time Damen was able to keep from reacting outwardly. Perhaps some part of him had expected Laurent's attention to return to him before long. From the corner of his eye Damen could see the smile on Laurent's face as his fingers slid, slowly, deliberately, along the inside of Damen's thigh. Damen swatted his hand away before he could lose his composure. It was too easy for Laurent to send Damen's heart racing.

Laurent had put his studious nature to good use since the first time he had set foot in Ios so many months ago, mapping Damen's skin, discovering where and how to touch him to prompt a certain reaction. Damen was usually more than appreciative of his efforts. Of course, usually when Laurent chose to show off what he had learnt, the two of them were alone, and not about to cause a scene in front of Damen's father and his court.

But it was not only Theomedes they had to worry about; Auguste was sat mere inches from Laurent, his gaze in their direction as he watched Theomedes' speech. Damen's relationship with Auguste had recovered nicely since the pair had run one another through with their blades at the battle of Marlas years earlier, but they were not so close that Auguste would have no complaint about his younger brother sliding a hand into Damen's skirts right in front of him.

"Stop it," Damen whispered.

"Why?" replied Laurent, and his touch moved higher, curling around Damen as Damen bit his lip to stifle a gasp — and his urge to rock forward into Laurent's fist. "You seem to be enjoying it."

Damen shifted again, away from Laurent's deviant hand, and again all was calm for just long enough that Damen almost began to believe Laurent had grown tired of this game. He should have known better. Laurent's attention returned to him, fingers drawing teasing circles against Damen's sensitive skin, Damen's body reacting with greater intensity. It was a challenge for Damen to keep his breathing even. It was an even greater challenge to keep the smile from his face. There had always been something strangely appealing about Laurent's endless audacity, even when Damen was the victim of it.

Laurent continued his torment for the rest of Theomedes' toast, and Damen employed his every ounce of self-control to keep from squirming under his ministrations, until, finally, a flock of kitchen staff descended upon the clearing, and Damen breathed a silent sigh of relief. They carried fresh baked pies and breads, and trays piled with the fruits picked earlier in the day, and began to load the table with their wares while everyone around the table — including Laurent, thankfully — raised their goblets to the setting sun and drank deep.

"You can't eat one-handed," Damen murmured in Laurent's ear, while the others were distracted piling their plates with the summer's bounty.

"I can do a great many things one-handed," replied Laurent. "Let's see how well I do, shall we?"

"You realise, of course, that the equinox festival is an important event in the Akielon calendar? If we were caught in such brazen disregard of it..."

"It would be bad, yes," Laurent agreed. He tore a morsel of bread from the loaf placed between them, popped it into his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully. His mind made up — if he'd ever really stopped to consider — he looked back at Damen. "You'll have to employ the utmost discretion, then."

And with that, his hand slipped back between Damen's thighs.


	7. Gardens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon-compliant. Damen/Laurent. Rated Teen.

Under the stars, Ios was quiet. The palace high atop the cliffs was always somewhat removed from the din of the city sprawling below, but tonight, even the usual hustle and bustle of the busy palace couldn't touch Damen here. From one garden to the next he walked, under archways of flowering trees, shafts of moonlight breaking through the leaves to illuminate small patches of the paths beneath Damen's feet, the scent of hundreds of flowers mingling in the warm night air. Damen's footsteps were silent. There were few sounds as serene as those found in the gardens: the trickle of water running gently in the fountains scattered between the plants, the murmur of the waves far below, the occasional cry of a night bird in the trees. For as long as Damen could remember, he had made a concerted effort not to disturb the tranquillity here.

Down petal-strewn steps and past a pair of marble statues as old as the palace foundations, goddesses whose names had long been forgotten, and Damen had reached the farthest point from civilisation in the palace grounds. Perhaps it was the farthest point from civilisation in the whole city. Ios was not a city that came alive at night; few in Akielos were. The days here were long, the sun warm and bright; the nighttime was little more than an opportunity to rest before the next fine day. But the night garden was still maintained for the evening that someone might find themselves upon its cobbled paths.

The moonlight shone bright here, unhindered by the trees that offered blissful shade in the hot days across the rest of the gardens, and all around pale sprays of flowers opened up towards it. Jasmine as white as the moon itself curled around the pillars lining the garden. Low beds of tuberose brushed Damen's calves as he passed. Even the statues that stood amidst flowering shrubs were unpainted, their marble reflecting the white moonlight. It gave the garden an ethereal quality that Damen had never found anywhere else in all of Akielos.

But he wasn't alone in appreciating the garden's rare beauty. Damen rounded a robust wisteria tree and stopped in his tracks at the sight of another figure, stood before a long-dry fountain and gazing up at the sky. He was as pale as the flowers surrounding him, hair almost white in the moonlight and skin the colour of ivory. Only the deep blue of his jacket stood out in colour. It was easy to imagine him a part of the gardens himself, sprung up from the ground with the flowers, or carved from marble like one of the statues. It was perhaps the only place in Akielos he didn't stand out.

Damen smiled. "There you are."

"Here I am," said Laurent, and he glanced over his shoulder to meet Damen's gaze. He didn't look surprised by Damen's silent approach. "What will you do now you've found me?"

Damen stepped forward, until he and Laurent were stood together under the light of the full moon. He wrapped one arm around Laurent's lower back, and held him against his own body. Where Laurent's jacket was undone, revealing the loose undershirt he wore beneath — his only stubborn concession to the summer heat — Damen could feel the warmth of his skin. Laurent's eyes were twinkling pale topazes as they stared up at him, and when Damen moved in, they slipped closed.

Their kiss was soft: a quiet greeting, and a promise of more to come, and when they withdrew from one another's lips, Damen's hold on Laurent remained. He brushed his free hand along Laurent's cheek, pushing his hair back from his face and exposing more translucent skin.

"You look beautiful in the moonlight," he said.

Laurent quirked an eyebrow, a smile playing on his lips. "I look beautiful all the time."

"Yes." Damen grinned and kissed Laurent again. Laurent gave a soft hum of satisfaction against Damen's lips that pooled warmth in Damen's belly. "But especially now."

"Perhaps we should stay out here a little longer, then, so you can admire my beauty some more."

Damen could admire Laurent anywhere, he suspected; the sharp line of his cheekbones, his jaw line, the bow of his pink lips, the way the light caught his hair. But he took Laurent by the hand and led him farther through the night garden, towards a slice of grass surrounded by yet more vines of fragrant jasmine. He lay down, and Laurent settled at his side.

"You were right about this garden," said Laurent. "It is something to behold."

Damen hummed his agreement. He draped his arm across Laurent's narrow shoulders, and pulled him close. The stars were a vast blanket above them. He and Laurent lay there, in casual conversation and easy silence both, watching the moon's journey across the inky heavens, until pale hints of colour washed away the darkness and the sun began its rise into the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys! I've loved reading all your comments this week xx


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